


Grip Tight to All Things Bright

by Myzic



Series: Whumptober 2020 [11]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Chronic Pain, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nerve Damage, Not Beta Read, Other, Peter has some issues with his body, Poison, Whump, Whumptober 2020, desc. of pain, he should be kinder to himself, we die like hyperion mayors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myzic/pseuds/Myzic
Summary: Nerve damage, she told him, and his head swam with the list of potential symptoms she read out sympathetically. He thought of a joking tone, a badly hidden layer of panic the speaker hadn’t— couldn’t let himself fully consider. Couldn’t let himself think through completely when the implications were too terrifying.'I’ll never shoot straight again, but not a big deal— it’s not like sharpshooting was the basis of my entire career or anything.'Peter stared at his hands— numb, even now— and filed away thoughts that included the words ‘basis of my entire career’ in them, desperately tucking away emotions that made his throat close up. It would seem the detective wasn’t the only one who escaped that tomb with a few repercussions.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Whumptober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956226
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	Grip Tight to All Things Bright

Seth Tualip smiled brightly at the chuckling Mr. Vastata, heir to the Vastata fortune derived from a lifetime of traditional diamond wares, varying from diamond-tipped drills to the most durable weapons used during the War. He was a pretty young man, eight years Peter’s junior, with a grin that curled flatteringly with his eyes.

“It’s a funny thing, but I must admit it feels like I’ve known you my entire life. Forgive me if the sentiment isn’t shared, Mr. Vastata.” Seth had a way of making others feel wanted. He was charming and charismatic with a presence that drew others in, which was usually counterproductive to Peter’s objective, but he could handle the extra attention and was skilled enough to pull it off.

Pull off this man’s dazzling necklace, specifically. The Sky Sapphire was an array of twinkling gems, glinting delicately in shades from cyan to navy on wires so dainty they were nigh invisible against the heir’s throat.

“No, no, I feel the same. Crazy isn’t it?” he said a little breathlessly, maybe a little too charmed. That wouldn’t do when Peter made his escape. “How you can just click with some people. And please, call me Camden.” He pointedly didn’t react as the thought of another easy partnership strutted across his mind, the detective irreverent as always.

“Seth,” Peter said pleasantly in return.

Earlier this evening, the name ‘Seth Tualip’ had seemed as acceptable a name as any other, but now he regretted the choice.  _ Tualip _ , a last name very reminiscent of the word ‘tulip.’ Flower names were so gauche nowadays, really. He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

“Of course, Seth,” Mr. Vastata grinned, obviously delighted at their new first name basis.

Peter forced himself to laugh, loud and boisterous, though every part of him that wanted to simply hide, tuck himself away, and never emerge reared its head, fighting each hiccuping laugh that he pushed up his throat. Seth was also the kind of man who was a little overly friendly with his movement, as need be when Peter had to get closer to snag a certain priceless bit of jewelry, so he threw his arm around the heir’s shoulders, making sure his beaming smile shone earnestly across each tooth.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Then, I believe I should be dedicating my next drink to friendship, Camden,” His fingers felt unusually numb, likely the cold from the drink in his left hand and his fingers felt clumsy against the back of Mr. Vastata’s neck. 

He was already preparing an excuse to deliver himself away from the conversation and towards the punch table for another drink where he would quickly make an exit. Far from Saturn, which was the furthest planet he could get himself to after his last job on Mars hadn’t panned out financially as he thought it might. None of it had gone the way Peter thought it might, right to the bitter end with whispered declarations of love, and a sense of hope for a future the likes of which he’d thought  _ maybe _ , just  _ maybe _ —

But the past wasn’t relevant to his present. What was relevant, was how he undid the latch, with less grace than usual, certainly, but when he tried to take hold of the fine wires of the necklace… 

Peter couldn’t feel them, and he felt his stomach drop as he grasped at empty air. Both he and Mr. Vastata saw the Sky Sapphire fall from his neck at the same time they heard the sound of a crystalline clink. Something in Peter sank at the sight of glittering blue gems falling through the air, something that dreaded what the necklace— not tucked safely away in his pocket like it should be— meant beyond the scope of this ballroom, beyond the tinkling sound of crystal on the ground.

Within a second, a look of dawning awareness spread across the heir’s wide cheekbones and a betrayed rage in the next moment. It seemed his off-planet ticket had just gone to hell in a handbasket.

“Y—You!”

“Me, I suppose.” he agreed disappointedly.

“Security! Secu—” Peter started running towards the terrace, the most crowded route for the security guards to navigate toward him. He wobbled a little as he began to run, and for a single terrifying second, thought he was going to go careening towards the polished floor in a mass of splayed limbs. He clenched his hands— fear jolting in him at the sensation of fingers that he could not feel the texture of, only the pressure— steadied his gait, and burst into the cool air of the balcony where a number of elegantly dressed benefactors mingled. 

The steadily growing volume of murmured conversation grew exponentially around him and Peter jumped the railing of the balcony, throwing himself over the ledge.

~   
  
A few days later Peter was on Makemake, facing the best neurologist he could find. She had a kind face, lined and tired, and it didn’t help much, but at the moment he was grateful for the appearance of it, practiced or not.

Nerve damage, she told him, and his head swam with the list of potential symptoms she read out sympathetically. He thought of a joking tone, a badly hidden layer of panic the speaker hadn’t— couldn’t let himself fully consider. Couldn’t let himself think through completely when the implications were too terrifying. 

_ I’ll never shoot straight again, but not a big deal— it’s not like sharpshooting was the basis of my entire career or anything _ .

Peter stared at his hands— numb, even now— and filed away thoughts that included the words ‘basis of my entire career’ in them, desperately tucking away emotions that made his throat close up. It would seem the detective wasn’t the only one who escaped that tomb with a few repercussions.

~

On the Carte Blanche, it didn’t affect him as much with his medication— a subscription bottle of pills with a complicatedly frightening name. Or, he is very careful not to let anyone see how it affected him. Most days it wasn’t a problem, aside from a few close calls Peter didn’t like to think about how he pulled off, and the issue remained not to be an issue as much as he could forcibly will it not to be.

Until he couldn’t.

~

“Pete, this could be a good experience for Juno. You just have to keep an eye on him to make sure it works out.” The Captain’s voice filtered through the comms, tone steadying, and words alarming.

“Yes, but don’t you think it would be a better time to test his caliber when we aren’t stealing  _ nuclear detonators _ .” He made sure the air of deference didn’t leave his body language when he spoke, as Juno and him walked up to the front door of the Government of Clementia’s office, Juno shuffling a little awkwardly in his pencil skirt against Nureyev’s earlier advice, and  _ he’d told Buddy he wasn’t ready for it _ .

A blaster hung from his hips as they did all the government officials, silver and deadly. It was hard to define concrete thresholds for when certain governments should be toppled, but Peter felt it should be well before the point that the officials carried weaponry to appear more threatening to the masses.

“He’s not the one stealing them, darling. That’s why you’re there, after all.” The device in his ear went quiet after that, silent as they held their IDs up to the scanner at the front doors, iron and heavily reinforced, with a pattern of intricate spirals in the shape of the Clementian symbol for power. Their images went through, as Rita had programmed, having created a new profile in the cabinet for Juno, and replacing all images of the previous cabinet minister with his visage, and Peter for the assistant, respectively.

Terrifyingly efficient as always.

“Come on, Wilburt,” Juno spat the name because he hated it, Peter knew, but it did well to establish himself as a bad-tempered member of the government inside the building. 

“Immediately, Ms. Deadia.” Peter quickened his pace accordingly, nudging Juno’s side as he stared a little too long at the sleek black marble walls that filled the lobby and corridors, at odds with the stone flooring their heels clacked on in unison. “The architecture of this place is beautiful isn’t it, and so  _ interesting _ . I can barely hear myself walk, in fact.”

Juno glanced down at their feet subtly and a concierge looked politely at them from her seat behind a matching black desk, hair pinned back in a bun, and wearing a navy pantsuit. 

“That’s because the walls in the Government of Clementia’s office building were manufactured so it’s difficult to hear the ongoing discussions in the meeting rooms. What state are you from, Ms. …?”

“Deadia,” Juno shot her a smile and slid over his ID, “and me and my assistant are here as representatives from the State of Brimson.”

“Alright, and would you like me to guide you to the meeting room? You two are the last to arrive, so everyone should already be there.” She was good at her job, mincing her words so the fact that everyone was waiting on them didn’t seem as apparent.

“Please. I don’t really feel like spending the next twenty minutes wandering the building for a room I could have asked for help to find,” The concierge grinned, and Peter knew she was taken in by the rough lady with enough self-awareness to ask for assistance. An admittedly new trait he found himself appreciating frequently. “Don’t think the coots waiting would be super psyched about it either.”

Peter followed a step or two behind Juno, wishing he could smoothen out the harsh line of his back. The tension that appeared obvious to Peter— because he was familiar with all Juno’s tells, had spent ages analyzing each microexpression he wore— didn’t come through his words, and he felt momentarily proud of his partner’s progress. At his side, his fingers tingled with anticipation almost painfully. 

It was nothing. He had taken his medication this morning, and a job like this was too important to let his condition get the better of him.

“Hey, Wilburt. Remind me what the program’s looking like today?” A cue to re-establish Juno’s role inside the meeting room, what topics he’d be covering with the other cabinet members.

They’d spent last night studying in his room, going over the plans on the vote today about whether or not Clementia should shoot their arsenal of deadly nuclear energy at their neighbouring planet, Bomfradis, while Juno looked increasingly angered at the layout of weapons in their array and various war crimes committed during the War when anything was fair play. It was a very distracting studying session, Juno getting more and more worked up, both because of the war crimes, and because today, he would be voting in favour of the imminent destruction as was the will of his state, and Peter getting worked up for a different reason.

“You’ll be discussing the situation with Bomfradis, deciding which strike zones should be prioritized to minimize the ensuing threat, and I will be waiting outside for confirmation of the vote.” Juno didn’t muffle his disgruntlement very well, and Peter didn’t hide the amused smile on his face in response. Romance wasn’t dead, he knew, because if it was, then what was this feeling in his chest, rejoicing each curl of Juno’s hair, the tip of his tongue poking out his mouth when he concentrated.

He had never been so distracted as he was working with the detective.

Their concierge left them at the door of the meeting room, reminding them politely to turn or take off their comms during the meeting in case any sound made it through the walls. He held a finger to the device to do exactly that, waiting for the elongated beep that signaled his comms powering down. Peter resisted the urge to grab Juno’s hand to comfort him, smiling reassuringly as he took a breath, pushing through the double doors— allowing Peter a glimpse of rounded tables, filled by swivel chairs and people in professional suits— before they shuttered close behind him, and he disappeared into the meeting. 

Beside the door at the entrance looked to be a row of chairs, filled with a few people he assumed to be assistants dressed in various suits and stiff blouses, and Peter eyed them warily. He couldn’t be expected to stay here the entire time, not when he still had a particular Big Red Button to track down.

“Do any of you happen to know where the bathroom is?” There, now one of them would be able to excuse his absence so long as he was quick about it, which he planned on being. 

A girl with long twists done in an elegant braid snorted from where she was slouched on her chair. “You want to fuck off during the meeting, no one’s going to care. You just missed Jacqueline and Calrisse headed off for some quality time during the meeting,” She grinned at him, chin resting on her palm, “I would avoid any closets you come across on your way to the bathroom.”

A groan came from the clean-shaven man to her next before Peter could respond, “God, is that what they were doing? Again? We just saw each other a month ago, you think they might practice a little restraint.” He bit lightly down on his tongue to hide his amusement and started to back away down the hall.

“Noted, and thank you,” Peter said to the remaining assistants, as they continued their conversation and the woman nodded at him distractedly before retorting.

“What, are you jealous? You could work to let loose a bit, Jackson.”

“Sounds like a proposition to me…” Their words faded as Peter navigated further into the building, feet moving quickly. 

The vault was close to the meeting room, the architects likely having relied on the hypnotizing similarity of the halls to confuse and deter any possible thieves. But he would not be deterred by strange layouts, and Peter soon found a smooth concrete door without a doorknob. An eye scanner lay to the right of it, and the process of fooling these was tedious when he was on his own, but now… 

He took a second to thank Rita silently as the pad lit up green, and Peter stepped inside. Cameras were a precautionary measure the government had decided to go without, likely to cover up the corrupt happenings within its walls. There weren’t even any in the room he was in now. He would wager good money that this was in case any of them ever felt the need to take the detonator for themselves, so there would be one less thing to implicate them.

The safe itself was the size of a microwave, small and not as protected as he might have been expecting, given the size of the room it was in, a rather dramatic pedestal holding the box up in the middle of it. 

It was a Nymphulus system, a box favoured by a few of his previous benefactors who had donated to his cause unwillingly. But that was not to say their belongings had not gone to good use in his hands. He took out a thinner knife and coaxed off the key dial with deft movements and a solid jerk, catching it before it could make a sound. 

The system had a flaw, he knew, once the little door was open, and you slid your hands carefully along the sides of its inner walls, pressing your hands flat so the sensors didn’t react to them and reaching for the object from the back of the casing

Peter winced as spiny needles shot through his fingers, and he twitched. There were tiny points of pressure emerging all along his hands, and he quickly finished the maneuver, snatching the small rectangle with blue switches lying innocuously in the vault. 

The lights in the room flashed, once, twice, and then a cacophonous siren rushed through him, loud enough that he could feel his skull vibrating in his head, and he trembled with it. Peter looked at his hands in betrayal, cursing internally, before he was sprinting out of the room. Something like dread was running in his veins, panic like a disease eating through his lungs.

Peter thought he had it under control. The medication didn’t always help, but he’d thought— 

It was vanity that made him ignore the ramifications of his injuries, and now it was hubris that would kill him, Juno, and the millions of innocents on Bomfradis. He couldn’t be responsible for that, that much carnage on such an enormous scale. Peter thought of shaking hands, the same ones that shivered now, but smaller, a reactor, and a broad, receding back with a knife in it. He couldn’t, not again. The thought made his legs feel weak beneath him, and he stumbled.

Prickles ran up his shins and calves, twinging painfully, and no, it wasn’t just guilt that made him unsteady. Just another part of his body failing him, crumbling beneath him, and ensuring his death sooner than he’d been anticipating. Peter started to walk but found he couldn’t keep his weight properly distributed between both feet and he leaned on the wall, shoulder dragging against its polished black surface squeakily as he walked drunkenly onward.

He had to keep moving.

There was too much he had to do before he died. A whole lifetime of loving Juno, for instance. And, he didn’t want to. Die, that was.

If you had asked him that question a little over a year ago, alone in a cold room and a colder bed, Peter might have answered differently— not because he wanted to die, but because sometimes being alive hurt so much you wished you were dead just so you wouldn’t have to ache with it— but right now every nerve he could feel was screaming at him to survive. He could feel the desire running through his veins like live wires, and Peter wanted to live, to see Juno again, to make it out of this  _ damned building _ .

He didn’t hear him coming, with the alarms doing their best to distill his blood, but then Juno was there in front of him, legs tense in his grey skirt. Peter could feel the worried crumple of his expression as he took him in, the detective’s sharp gaze taking in his body partially slumped against the wall, and obviously coming to some quick conclusions.

“Ransom, what the hell happened?” he tugged an arm across his shoulders and Peter leaned on him gratefully, before they were moving away from the wall, “Are you okay?  _ Shit _ , your hands.”

“My hands?” he looked at them, covered in beading, crimson threads that ran thin and shallow all across his right hand, the detonator still clutched in his palm so he could feel the pressure of it. Peter hadn’t felt a thing— still didn’t, save for the burning rivers running electrical currents through his legs.

It looked like the Clementian government had modified their security systems a mite, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Well, apart from a few setbacks,” he would’ve waved his hand, had it not been slung around Juno’s shoulders as they hobbled their way out of the building as fast they could, “our objective has been completed.” The cuts on his hands looked to be mostly superficial and he squinted at them.

“I don’t care about the— no, wait, nuclear missiles. I do, and that’s great, but what the hell happened to you?”

“I had a very chivalrous and dear detective swoop in at the last moment and save me from my mistakes.” He could explain about his condition later, but the time for soft apologies would have to wait for when they weren’t running— stumbling at Juno’s side in his case— for their lives. “Now, less talking and more escaping, Juno.”

“I dunno, it seems like a great time to talk to me,” Peter looked up at his face while he spoke, brown eyes unwavering from their path of escape, and Peter simply ran in the direction Juno provided. “You think I want to find out when you collapse on me? I’d rather not die of the fear, thanks, so any time you want to tell me  _ now  _ would be—”

He felt Juno’s arms quaking under his shoulders as they guided him, and knew the detective was afraid, even as his voice stayed steady. “Nerve damage. All along my torso, legs, and hands. It can be quite debilitating,” Peter said. Juno sucked in a sympathetic breath.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” He looked at him disbelieving before refocusing his gaze forward, their pace slowing as they entered the lobby.

“I told Vespa,” Peter said, leaving out the bit where he hadn’t actively hidden his condition from Vespa. He was sure she knew. The over-the-counter medicine he used probably didn’t restock itself in their medicine drawers once every month. “I wasn’t so irresponsible as to not inform our medic of my medical condition.” He lied through his teeth.

They made it out the front doors, and Peter was mindful not to relax as the alarms behind them grew muffled with the frame of the building separating them from the sound of it. They wouldn’t be out of the woods until they were back on the Carte Blanche and speeding away.

“But not me. You didn’t think you should tell me.” 

“Juno, I have bared every part of myself to you, from my name to the scars on my chest. Forgive me if I didn’t want to share the parts I could hardly bear to see myself,” he snapped. The two of them talked, shared pain like equal burdens, yes, but he didn’t think it was selfish to keep this one thing to himself. To not be reminded of his shortcomings every time he looked in Juno’s eyes instead of simply every time he looked in the mirror.

Peter didn’t want to see the way Juno looked at him change.

“I want to see them. Peter, I want to see all of it, all of you. I don’t— I don’t,” he huffed frustratedly, “care if they hurt you to look at. There is no part of you I could struggle to love, you got that?” and in the span of a few sentences he swept Peter off his feet, and his heart filled with dizzying warmth.

And then his feet were literally being swept out from underneath him, but not in the romantic sense. More in the the-floor-is-trying-to-kiss-me-and-smash-my-nose-in-simultaneously sense. Peter started to tip toward the ground, cement pathing rushing to meet his face too quickly for him to stop. A surprised grunt heaved in his ear before Juno was holding him up entirely, legs set awkwardly apart as Peter leaned over him to compensate for the sudden weight at his side.

Suddenly he realized what the cuts on his hands did. “Poison,” he breathed to Juno’s very alarmed face, “They modified their Nymphulus system to outfit it with blades and poison.” He hadn’t noticed, used to the dizziness and familiar off-balance feeling he’d always resented, assuming it was just a particularly bad day for his symptoms.

“What are the chances of this thing being a painless paralytic?” His heartbeat contracted and swelled like an overfilled water balloon in his chest as his legs slumped weakly at his side.

“Very small, I’m afraid.” 

Voices emerged from behind them, harried tones finally starting to catch up and he looked up at Juno with wide eyes. Their backs were turned so he couldn’t see the number of people that had come after them— but these were members of a government that were deciding on which area to bomb based on the number of innocents they could kill in a single strike. They were petty, quick to throw around nuclear weapons, and Juno couldn’t be here right now, dragged down by Peter’s deadweight at his side. He slipped the detonator into Juno’s blazer, tucking into the pocket so he would at least have that when he left.

Before he could say a thing, start to plead with Juno— run,  _ run _ — an arm was reaching under his knees and his stomach swooped excitedly at the feeling of being carried even as the switch from vertical to horizontal placed more pressure on his accelerating heartbeat.

“Trust me?” Juno asked, as though it was any real question.

“Yes.” He confirmed immediately.

The detective’s right cheek flattened like he was biting the inside of it to stop himself from grinning. “Great. Play dead.” Peter went limp in his arms accordingly, closing his eyes and loosening his muscles with some difficulty as his legs shivered with jolts of biting fire, and his heart convulsed tightly.

He felt Juno turn beneath him, the feeling of movement a little frightening without him having any input on when or how it would happen, but he trusted Juno. Something hard poked against his head and he almost reflexively tensed at feeling the end of a blaster on his skin before forcing himself to remain still. Peter had never seen anyone handle a gun with as much finesse or skill as Juno, and he knew the one against his skull would be handled with nothing less than that, more if he knew anything about the love of his life.

“Nobody moves towards me,” Juno demanded, tone commanding, strict, and Peter could hear his years on the force in it, “or I shoot him.”

The sound of overlapping voices reached him, and Peter estimated a crowd of twenty or so people gathering outside the building just to see them about to escape.

“It’s just an assistant—”

“Excuse me? I don’t work my ass off to be treated like this—”

A panicked male voice, “I think he got Calrisse! I haven’t seen her since the meeting started…” 

“Who?” asked Juno, before Peter could hear him getting his footing verbally, “Yeah. Yes, Calrisse. You already know I’m capable of pulling this trigger, so let’s all just stay very still, alright.” A particular beep whistled behind them and Peter focused on that ray of hope instead of the fading sensation of his body floating away, and the ever-increasing rush of blood thick in his ears.

“I’m going to get into this car, and no one is going to get hurt,” his footsteps swayed Peter’s body, and a beep from behind them had a crushing feeling of brief weight folding over him as he presumed Juno stepped into the Ruby 7. The door clicked close and the sound of buzzing rays of plasma vibrated in the air, at the spot the car used to inhabit before they accelerated.

He opened his eyes, tired, and realized he was still in Juno’s lap, shifting to move to his own seat. Peter’s next breaths came out gasping as he moved the slightest inch, something palpitating heavily in his rib cage. 

“Peter?” Juno’s hand closed around his own and he would’ve cried as it did if not for the hammering of his pulse like nails pushing into his innards. He couldn’t feel the warmth of Juno’s skin, the softness of their palms pressing together— just the pressure of something encircling his hand. “Uh, is it getting worse? Can you say something?” 

Peter wheezed in response, certain he sounded rather like a chew toy being squeezed too hard.

“Hit the gas, Big Guy! The hell are the others?” His hands were running through Peter’s hair soothingly, rhythmic, and hypnotizing because when everything else was pain, Juno was comfort. Peter focused on the feeling of it, the soft brush of his fingertips when he reached a little too far forward and pet the skin of his hairline.

He slipped away.

~

Peter didn’t get magically better after that, and he did not change. What did change was how the others operated around their new knowledge of his condition. Around him.

On bad days or bad nights, when he could feel his fingers fumble around his buttons and tremble on the keys of his laptop, he went and found Buddy, told her in clipped words that he would be unable to complete his role in the mission tomorrow. She always nodded, not a trace of disappointment to be found on her face that the master thief she hired was incapable of doing his job.

She wouldn’t though. A professional of Buddy Aurinko’s skill did not get as far as she did by displaying every emotion she felt on her face for just anyone to see.

Today was one such day, and he watched ruefully as the Ruby 7 sped away, leaving him and Buddy alone aboard their home. Peter hated the cane in his hand, no matter how sleek and refined the mahogany was, even when the world tilted on its axis today, leaving him with a fraction of his former grace, a mockery of the smooth motions he’d spent years practicing.

It chafed in him, knowing he didn’t possess the same skill he once employed so carelessly, naturally as breathing.

When he’d broken his leg, it had bothered him, certainly. And sometimes he could feel himself wanting to scream with his lack of mobility. But the thing about broken bones was that they healed, they went away, and then you were standing on both legs of your own volition once more.

Except, that wasn’t even something Peter could claim for himself once that particular injury had healed.

The day he’d given in Peter had tripped on the way to the bathroom and accepted the less needy of his options. He didn’t doubt Juno would be completely willing to cart him from room to room when need be at the slightest of stumbles, but he despised the thought. There was no one he trusted more, but he abhorred the idea of being so singularly dependent, unable to even carry his body from one place to another.

He’d had to use it just then, standing aside Buddy and kissing Juno goodbye while the Captain eyed them amusedly. Peter could see the scrawling thought in her mind.  _ Ah, to be young _ , he imagined in her knowingly infuriating voice, as though she hadn’t come to watch Vespa depart with a similar gesture herself. 

The fine tips of his fingernails pressed into the lines of his hand and he couldn’t feel their individual points. Of everything the tomb had taken from him, he thought it might be his inability to feel the give of Juno’s cheeks as he cradled his face (and kissed him thrice as soft to feel the gentleness on his lips that his hands could no longer discern) that Peter mourned the most. He’d cupped Juno’s cheek as they said goodbye, but only felt the press of his lips and nothing of the line of his jaw before he was gone.

Buddy’s voice alerted him to the outside world again. “Well, back to work then, darling,” she looked at him expectantly from halfway up the stairs. He started to follow, confused. He wasn’t aware of any other duties to fulfill for this particular mission. “You didn’t plan on standing there and brooding all day, did you?”

“Certainly not,” he replied, containing his indignance at the implication, “I just wasn’t aware that you had something in mind for me. What work are we to do while the others are gone?”

“I have it waiting for us in the meeting room, Pete. Come now.” The meeting room consisted of a large steel grey table, surrounded by multiple desks arranged around it in a semicircle, blue maps, and holograms, plans, and information compiled in blue sheaths of light his partner was forbidden from ever touching without careful supervision.

On the table was a pile of papers, the same one Peter had seen this morning when Captain Aurinko was briefing the team and he was, of course, listening attentively to her every word. She grabbed it now before handing it to him, and he accepted it wordlessly, looking at the sheets of paper very much unrelated to the information brokering they had arranged for the mission the others were on.

“I assume you don’t need my assistance with running the mission then?” he inquired, taking a seat at the table with the paperwork in hand.

“No. What I want you to do is find a way for us to get inside this building. Specifically,” one of her long fingers poked a spot in what looked like to be a building layout on a larger sheet, “that room.”

“In the ‘Duke’s Estate of Havergless?’ What kind of strategy are you looking for?” Venus. That was interesting. It was renowned for its lack of law enforcement over local mafia, as well as the old fashioned feudal landscape those in higher power all but ruled over. Peter himself had had a stint there but found the disorganization between gangs and subsequent drama when they got mixed up together to be a bit much for his taste.

“We have been hired to retrieve a contract with a young Ms. Marion Havergless’ name on it, and we need to be discreet, so I was thinking of aliases for Juno, yourself, and I. Official positions, of course. Perhaps visiting members of the other estates?” She pulled out a thicker package of papers and dropped them onto the table before him, and he eyed it, impressed with the level of detail he could see flipping through the information briefly with his thumb.

Buddy was walking away towards a swivel chair that sat in front of a larger hologram display. She wasn’t going to watch him do it? Eye him for any slip-ups that spelled out a larger motive behind his plans?

“Three separate escape routes for all of us, and if you didn’t mind arranging it, Mr. Havergless has quite the arrangement of heirlooms in his personal museum downstairs, and I don’t believe our client would mind if we perused his selection for ourselves.”

“You want me to plan the entire thing?” He couldn’t help but ask. Peter regretted the words that spilled from his mouth, the insecurity that spewed from each uncertain syllable, and went to take it back.

She glanced at him and smiled graciously. “That is part of your skillset, Pete. I would say you’re the most talented strategist in our family,” the Captain turned to her display, spinning the chair forward, “aside from me, of course.” She tacked on the end.

He laughed and stopped short, surprised at how genuine it sounded. 

Peter had never gone to any sort of public schooling system, apart from a few classes he attended when the job called for it, but a part of him looked at the pile, knew it was essentially homework, and pulled it closer to him, excited anyway.

The comms in his ear turned on with a flick of his fingers and the beautiful, exasperated voice of Juno came through.

“I said I had her bags, why the hell did you have to butt your nose in like that?”

“It sure didn’t look like your charm was helping, Steel, unless you wanted information on her groceries and protein intake.”

“Guys, I don’t think knockin’ out the informant was the best way of schmoozin’ up to her! I mean if you had just let me, I’m sure I coulda pulled it off. Oh! And then it could have been so beautiful and tragic between us just like the streams! Like that one where the mercenary an’ the cop kissed under that starlit bridge but—”

He smiled, and let the bickering wash over him and distract him from the pins in his finger as Peter planned their next mission.

~

He knew the surgery had worked almost as soon as he was out of it. Peter knew because he could feel the scratchy bandages wrapped around his hands, the line of the grain in the fabric. He grinned at them, and Peter had experienced what it was like to unwrap gifts, gotten one of his first in the past year, and the anticipation felt like the same as it did then, but without any of the confusion.

The thin strip fell off easily and he pulled the loosened ends of it from his fingers, unable to help a smile from splitting apart his lips and baring his teeth as he pressed the ends of his fingernails into his palms, bending his fingers and feeling the skin crease itself.

Juno was watching him, his face open and awed as Peter felt, a grin full of sun and excitement breaking through the nervous cloud of his expression from a few moments prior. He could feel his own happiness grow at the expression, basking in the comfort of what it was to be loved. 

“How does that feel, Nureyev?” he leaned in as he said it, the name quiet and lovely on his lips. 

He kept on clenching and unclenching his fingers, marveling at the sensation he would never take for granted again. “I—It’s wonderful. The feeling of my hands,” Peter found himself at a loss for words, an unfamiliar feeling but a blessed one at this moment, “like they’re my  _ own _ again.”

His love laughed gleefully at his words, and Juno was radiant in their shared happiness. Peter found he was unable to bear the scant inches between the two of them a second longer and pulled him in for a kiss, not one of passion as they both giggled like high schoolers with their first crush, smiling too much to properly press their mouths together. 

Something in him was bright and he felt like he was soaring, feeling Juno’s ecstatic grin against his own

He put a hand to Juno’s face and ran his thumb just past his eye, feeling the downy baby hairs like peach fuzz, the stubble a little scratchy on the bottom of his palm, the give and roundness of his cheek from full meals, and the  _ warmth  _ of the skin emanating under his palm.

Peter pulled his hand away reluctantly to press against Juno’s chest in a reminder. The tell-tale click of cold metal around his wrists was familiar and he grew giddier to hear it.

Within seconds the kiss tasted like salt and Peter thought he might be crying from the joy singing in his chest. But they broke apart and the tears were streaming from Juno’s eyes, though the wetness on his cheeks from their kiss could very well have been his own, as Peter blinked away the moisture gathering in the corners of his own eyes.

“I’m so glad,” he blubbered and Peter’s cheeks almost ached from the force of his smile, “That’s— that’s really great. I’m so ha-appy.”

A few twists of the safety pin from his bandages and he was free of the cuffs Juno had put around his wrists. They fell to his lap with no more than the slightest ruffle of fabric and a clink of metal teeth. It was second nature, easy as breathing, as walking, as loving Juno Steel. 

It would appear his dexterity didn’t deteriorate as he feared and he breathed, exhilarated at regaining his prowess.

“Thank you, my love.”

“R—right. You know I would still love you if it hadn’t worked though, Peter? You would still be everything I wanted.” 

“I know.” There was little more that he had faith in than Juno’s devotion, little more that he had ever believed in. It was strange, this certainty, when so much of his life had been nothing but smoke and vapour, to have something as solid and unshakeable as the knowledge that his lady loved him.

“Good. Just making sure.”

“I have never been surer about anything than I am about you, Juno.”

A mushy smile Peter treasured having all to himself. “That’s so embarrassing for you,” he teased. 

“If I am embarrassed at falling in love with you, then I never deserved to have you at all.” Peter jested back, meaning every word of it anyway. “And having you is worth everything I can give.”

“You’re the one that’s worth everything, Peter.”

And before he could refute the very idea, excited feet slapped across the ground irregularly and a blur of neon colour burst into view.

“Mistah Ransom, did it work?” He caught sight of an impending Rita, charging at him full speed a hand in the air, “You’d better put’ em up! Incoming!” Peter raised his hand in the nick of time and was reminded just how alive he was as he received the most exuberant high-five he had ever felt. It stung, smacking loudly and prickling up his palm. “Didja feel that?”

“I did,” he chuckled instead of fulfilling the urge to cradle or shake out his hand, choosing not to mention his certainty that he would have felt it, procedure or not. “It worked. I’m all healed, though I might have to wait a few days to recover from your excellent high-five, Miss Rita.”

“That’s so exciting!” she turned to Juno who looked like he was already bracing himself for the same process. “Ooh, Mistah Steel, you too! Up high congratulatory super extreme high-five time!”

Peter curled his hands happily as Juno winced from the force of the blow. There was a bright future waiting, and now, he had the tools to reach out and take it for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue hard. So much research. wrote this in two days. am tired.
> 
> Why doesn’t anyone ever make these two cry of happiness, huh! MAYBE I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY!
> 
> I'm @themagicmistress on Tumblr!


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